


Midnight Reflection

by CallousHeartz



Category: Danger Days: The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Album), My Chemical Romance, The True Lives of the Fabulous Killjoys (Comic)
Genre: Angst, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Jet’s sad and needs a hug, Late Night Conversations, Platonic Cuddling
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-19
Updated: 2019-07-19
Packaged: 2020-07-08 20:29:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19875631
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CallousHeartz/pseuds/CallousHeartz
Summary: sometimes Jet thinks about those he left behind.





	Midnight Reflection

**Author's Note:**

> cw: very very brief drug reference, family mention

Reflecting hurts, and Jet hates doing it. 

But he does it. 

And he does it a lot. 

It's hours like this, when the world around him's fallen silent, and the cool night air's seeping in underneath the door, and it seems sleep's forgotten all about him, that he does it the most.

Swallowing heavily, Jet flips onto his side.  
He pulls his knees, bound by his arms, up to his chest, curling into himself for comfort against the wooden floor.

There are a million and ten things he could be thinking about right now, he reminds himself: the loose nail he can feel poking at his ankle, calling for his attention - he should probably fix that soon. Or the shadow of the chair in the corner, stretching up the wall like it's desperate to reach the ceiling, straining so hard for a single touch. He can trace it with his finger, easily. Maybe if he just focuses hard enough on that outline as his trembling fingertip follows it, everything else on his mind will tuck itself away and leave him be. Maybe it'll all hault the taunting long enough for him to get a couple hours of sleep whilst it's still dark out.

Yeah, no. It's futile.

Mouth squashed into the frayed knee of his jeans, Jet feels the first warm tears brimming his eyes. 

It's ok, he tells himself; he needs this relief. Just so long as he doesn't wake anyone else. 

It's Poison he's most concerned about in that sense: for once, the leader isn't keeping watch. Ghoul's taken up that position for the night. Poison needs to fucking sleep, he really, really does, and it's becoming evident - it seems everyone but him is aware of that. That's been the root of multiple short-lived arguments, but whether or not he's finally come to accept it, the leader is curled up on a grubby mattress not too far away. 

The last thing Jet wants is to be a disturbance; he's been sobbing under his breath for what feels like a while because his head's going numb, front teeth digging into denim to keep quiet, when he feels gentle contact on his arm. It's really out-of-the-blue, and he'd be lying to say it didn't startle him.

"Hey, Jet,"

It almost feels like a question. 

Sniffling and easing himself up a little, Jet blinks. He can vaguely make out a silhouette, crouched before him with long, flat hair spilling over the shoulders and obscuring the face, which becomes clearer as his vision adjusts to the darkness.

"Ah, shit," Jet mumbles, massaging his tired eye with the heel of his palm.  
"Just go to sleep, man. 'M fine."

Even with the lack of lighting, Jet can picture the incredulous, raised-brow look on Poison's face; he's known his best friend long enough to sense that shit. And the expression works its magic - Jet crumbles again, falling forwards with his face pressed hard into Poison's shoulder. Poison's fingers dip into his dark curls, his arm around Jet's back, and the warm physical contact seems to lure the tears out. It's not a bad thing, though - this is the first time tonight Jet's felt something other than a cold, blue-tinted hollowness.

"Wanna sleep on my mattress?" Poison murmurs, and Jet nods. He's got a loose strand of Poison's hair caught in his mouth when he sits up, and they both laugh a bit as he pulls it out and drops it on the floor.

It's funny how Poison's claimed an entire mattress out of the two the gang own.  
But then again, that's a very, well. _Poison_ thing to do.  
Regardless, Jet appreciates the invitation as the two settle onto it.

Forearm draped across Poison's stomach and chin propped on his shoulder, he sighs.

"I keep wondering about her," Jet admits. 

Poison doesn't need to ask who. 

"She knew," Jet continues, "She left a little plastic ring in my backpack, remember? She knew I was leaving, and she accepted it. No one else would've accepted it if they knew," His voice cracks, and for a moment he says nothing else, breathing deep and shaky as Poison rubs circles on his shoulder and leans his jaw against his hairline.

"I-I'll never even get to see her go into middle school," Jet chokes, "Sh-she always used to tell me how h-," He sinks his fingers into Poison's side unintentionally as he stumbles over his words, "How her best f-friend's brother never spent time with her, a-and how she felt so lucky to- to have a brother like me," He coughs a little, shoving his face into Poison's shoulder, "And look at me now. I ain't fuckin' spending time with her anymore, am I?"

There's a vengeance in his words against no one but himself. As Poison turns onto his side, Jet huddles closer to him, angry tears soaking into his shirt. 

Then, underneath his own harsh sobs, he hears the floorboards creak. Great - he's woken someone else, now.

Jet feels the mattress dip as Kobra sits down next to his head. 

Kobra reaches across to prod their leader's arm,  
"A'ight, Poison, you've 'ad your turn now," He jokes, "Surrender Jet."

Jet sits up, slumping forward into Kobra's outstretched arms.  
Kobra's grip is always a bit too tight for comfort and his shirt smells very strongly of a mix of things - weed and acrylic paint primarily - but the hug is exactly what Jet needs.

"Wherever she is," Kobra whispers, "I assure you she's fucking proud a'ya, yeah? She's fucking proud. Just like we are,"

"And y'know what I think?" Poison pipes up again, rubbing Jet's back as he speaks, "You said it yourself. That kid knew a fuckin' lot. She gave you that ring, for a start. She knows, Jet. And if she was already figurin' shit out at that point? I wouldn't be half surprised if ya run into her out here one'a these days,"

"Exactly," Kobra replies. "She'll be out 'ere," He ruffles Jet's hair, "An' I bet she'll be way cooler than you,"

Jet chuckles and shoves him,  
"Piss off,"

"Jus' telling the truth," Kobra shrugs, sinking into the mattress.

Poison snorts as he lays back down, patting the mattress as a cue for Jet to do the same, and he adds,  
"He's right, y'know,"

"I hate you both," Jet grumbles.

"We hate you too, spaceman," Kobra grins. 

Jet tugs a warm arm around Kobra's shoulders and presses a kiss to his temple, "Thanks, dude."

"Anytime, fucker," Kobra replies, squishing up to him. Then he coughs,  
" _Destroya,_ Poison, 'ave you, like, dumped an entire can of that fuckin' body spray down your shirt?"

"Cost me 10 sweet carbons, man," Poison replies, "I ain't wastin' that shit,"

"Fair. Stinks though,"

Poison reaches over Jet to swat Kobra with his hand, and Kobra rolls onto his back, cackling. 

And Jet feels at ease. Maybe someday these'll be the friends he shares with her.


End file.
